


Reunited At One’s Own Wake

by martinisandart



Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Cute, F/M, Reunion, Scene Rewrite, i had to rewrite this okay, phryne running to the inspector, theyre just fools in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23329174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinisandart/pseuds/martinisandart
Summary: When Jack Robinson starts to speak at the wake of the one and only Phryne Fisher, he never could have believed that would could have been a tearful eulogy would actually reunite him with the love of his life.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher & Johnathon Lofthouse, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 130





	Reunited At One’s Own Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Grab some tissues again, kids.

The Lofthouse Mansion did not leave the idea of wealth to anyone’s imagination. With tall, beautifully built battements, rolling lawns and luxurious gardens, the area made a certain visitor from the Antipodes almost forget why he had come to London in the first place- why he had spent a painful five weeks on a steamer: and it was not just because he had a desire to examine English roses in their natural habitat as to cultivate them better back home. The cream coloured seats that were laid out in an almost perfect pyramidal shape, filled the mansion’s lawn with a bright, yet somewhat harsh reminder of why Jack Robinson had needed to make his way to London in the first place after never having been able to come after the damn woman in the first place- and now he was here. Rather than with her in his arms, with happy smiles upon both of their faces, Detective Inspector Robinson was in London alone, save for Phryne’s close family and friends: none of which he knew even by name.

The portrait of the woman they were all supposed to be commemorating gazed at Jack as he took his seat on the lawn, and he felt a sense of guilt settle in his stomach. He knew that it wasn’t his fault that she was gone- he knew that, but still. Rather than have a bright and bubbly woman sat to his right, one hand placed upon his leg as he had always imagined that they would sit when they finally sorted out their... relationship issues- he had an empty chair to the one side, and Johnathon- was that his name? sat to the other, he didn’t feel the freedom and lightness that he had always hoped to feel in London, but rather a sense of dread mixed with despair.

The man stood to the front of the group, Jack remembered at one point when introductions were being made that he had been requested to call him Lofty- a stupid name if he ever had heard one, let out a cough, and Jack watched as everyone settled into their seats, finding himself following suit. That was how it had been for the entire time he had spent making his way to London, and making his way around London at that: following other people. Pre-Phryne, that had always been his way, following rules and order, following the crowd, but now there was nothing he would rather do than make it up as he went along, just how the damned woman had taught him to. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow, the paper that held his carefully written eulogy crackling in his pocket all the while, causing him to quickly stuff the handkerchief back in to muffle the sounds. He hadn’t mentioned, when asked, that he too had written a eulogy, and as of that moment, the only person who knew was Mrs Stanley, who had almost had a heart attack when she first saw the Inspector on the lawn, her mouth contorting into a perfect ‘o’, before she had wrapped him in a surprisingly fierce hug, almost crushing him while she gushed about her niece, of all the sad things that she would miss. To anyone else, it would have felt like the woman they loved’s aunt was offering an olive branch, a bit of care towards someone who really needed it, but to Jack it felt like a punishment. Mrs Stanley would barely even look at him back in Melbourne, and would pull the most ridiculous faces each time he tried to make any form of an advance on her niece, but now that she was gone, it seemed that he and Prudence Stanley were on the very best of terms.

Jack was snapped out of his reverie by another loud cough, and the elder of the Lofthouse brothers starting to ramble on about how Phryne had been an unpredictable whirlwind of a woman, and he was so absolutely correct that Jack felt himself begin to tear up. The tears, however, were quickly replaced with a feeling of jealousy as the damned man continued to speak.  
“And now, along with teaching me how to ride a motorcycle as well as helping my younger brother Johnathon learn how to dance the Black Bottom...” he trailed off as a couple of members of the audience to his speech spluttered out a laugh, and Jack cast a glance to the man sat next to him. So, dancing wasn’t solely his thing with Phryne, but rather something that she shared with any number of men, regardless of who they were, where they were from, and if she seemed in love with them or not. He let out a curse under his breath, and went back to listening just as Lord Lofthouse picked up with words that felt painfully familiar to Jack’s ears.  
“And so, dearest Phryne, we will honour you now by living out lives as richly and fearlessly as you once did.”  
Jack choked back what was almost a sob, and cast his mind back to almost two years ago, sat at Miss Fisher’s kitchen table, reaching out to hold her hand, and telling her to live her life to the hilt after the discovery of her sister’s body.

Across the row of chairs, Prudence Stanley let out an almost fond sounding huff.  
“I knew her luck would run out one day. She would never listen.”  
Jack nodded, and found himself stuck in his chair as Lord Lofthouse made his way down from the podium to take the empty seat next to his wife, nodding at Jack to make his way up as he did so. Jack swallowed, and making eye contact with Prudence, made his way to the front. As terrible as the whole situation was, Jack found it likely that he had forged some form of comradery with the old bird, and that it would likely last when they returned to Melbourne- when they returned home.

Jack’s suit jacket flapped behind him as he stepped up to the pedestal, and placing both hands on the white marble, he made an attempt to ground himself, casting a long glance back at Phryne’s portrait before managing to just about pull himself together. He tapped his fingers on the sides of the pedestal, and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, no words coming out, before he finally grabbed a hold of himself and started speaking to the silent group in front of him.  
“The Honourable Miss Phryne--” he trailed off after leaving large gaps between all of his words as an engine started to hum in the distance- the distinct sound of a plane on a clear day, one that took Jack jolting back to the end of August, red lips on his own, and a warm, smiling Phryne Fisher in his arms.  
“Fisher.”  
Jack turned on his heel just in time to see a yellow plane soar into view, and turned back just in time to see something fall from the sky and almost impale Prudence Stanley, who along with the other people on the lawn, let out a gasp and pulled an expression of pure shock.

Lady Lofthouse was the first to stand, brushing down her black skirts and letting out a squeaky exclamation of ‘what’s that?’, before leaning down to pick up what had very nearly killed Mrs Stanley. Jack reached for the piece of paper that had fallen near his feet, and Eleanor picked up the offending object before unfurling her own paper.  
“Relocate the- the-” her voice was confused, and Jack walked over to her, looking on as she troubled over what letter of the alphabet something was or was not.  
“Here.” He passed her the other slip of paper that he had picked up, and she held the two together, before letting out a hushed exclamation.  
“The tea trolley?”  
Jack pulled a face as the plane hum became louder once more, and both he and Lady Eleanor looked up to the sky to see the yellow plane circle back around the trees, the entire party standing up as she let out a cry.  
“Move the tea trolley!”  
The maid stayed stagnant where she was with the tea trolley, and a confused servant rushed over to help her, the two of them struggling with the heavy trolley as the plane bumped its way into view, landing with a thud as the crowd dispersed from their seats and walked toward the now landed vehicle with looks of utter confusion on their brows. The plane chugged to a halt, and with a flick of the side door, a recognisable goggled woman stuck her head out from the side.  
“I hope you wanted the cypresses pruned!”

Jack realised at the exact same moment that everyone else did who this was- if not a moment before, as the suddenly silent air was at once punctuated with a shocked “Phryne!” from Lady Lofthouse, and a guffaw of laughter from the Lord of the manor himself, followed by a few somewhat sarcastic seeming claps. Jack took a step back as everyone else stepped forward, a sickness bubbling in his stomach. Not again.  
“My dear girl!” exclaimed Lord Lofthouse as Phryne jumped out of the plane, her brown pinstripe trousers flapping in the slight breeze, goggles now off of her face.  
“We knew it would take more than a steam train to finish you off!”  
Jack suddenly felt complied to take a step forward, and then another, the pain evident on his face as he took in Phryne for the first time in what felt as long as forever. She was alive. This was Gertie Haynes all over again- thinking she was dead, only to have her bubble back into life as soon as he was sick with worry over that stupid woman!

He watched as Phryne all but threw herself into Lofthouse’s arms (Lofty, he corrected himself), and how she laughed with unrestrained glee before noticing his brother and taking a hold on his biceps in a way that was so reminiscent to their last meeting that Jack had to look away, though when he looked back, he wished he hadn’t, and found himself watching as she locked lips with this... this stranger!

Prudence Stanley was the next to make her opinions know, and let out a squark of ‘my God!’ before Phryne noticed her with a sorry smile.  
“Do you know what a fuss you’ve caused? We’ve been beside ourselves!” she trailed off, before adding,  
“And you nearly murdered me with that spanner!”  
Jack felt himself inwardly agreeing with her first comment about causing a fuss, and watched as Phryne enveloped her Aunt in the most tender of hugs.  
“Darling Aunt P!” Phryne rubbed her Aunt’s back with tender affection and care for the old woman, her eyes sparkling all the while as she looked over at the younger of the Lofthouse brothers.  
“I would have planned your murder much better than that!” a sly smile played on her lips, and Jack had to once more look away, passing his hat between his hands and shaking his head softly to himself. He missed her looking at people like that- looking at him like that.

He could hear Prudence complaining about how impossible Phryne was, and Shirin making a passing comment about thinking she was a ghost as introductions were made with the young woman’s uncle. All he could hear around him was happiness and gratefulness, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. She hadn’t even seen him yet- had no idea that he was there, and was so busy kissing and kissing up to other men that she probably never would. He felt like crying.

A moment later though, he felt eyes looking over to him, and a strange calm seemed to have fallen over the group. When he turned toward the feeling, Jack met Phryne’s eyes, those icy blue-grey-green eyes that had joyfully told him so many stories, so many words of love, and the tension in the air multiplied by at least double.  
“Jack.” Her voice was as soft as he remembered, and a fist clenched in his stomach. More gleefully, the ridiculous woman added,  
“What are you doing here?”  
Jack stood stagnant with his hat in one hand, words failing him once more. He was no Shakespeare, but there were so many words that he wanted to say, so many words that were falling short of telling The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher how he felt. He opted for the simplest option.  
“I came to pay my respects... at your memorial service.” He gestured with his hand to the seats that filled the lawn, the seats that constantly reminded him that he wasn’t here for leisure, or for fun, but because he had thought that the woman he loved was dead, but of course not. She was stood in front of him, now looking as if she too wanted to cry. Her face had fallen drastically, and Eleanor could be heard telling her how the newspapers had reported her as dead. The ruddy newspapers, that had caused her to break his heart, not for the first, but for the second time.

Phryne looked around the lawn with a look of terror on her face, and turned to her Aunt for affirmation, who ‘mhmed’ sadly. She turned back to Jack, and let out a short, scared response.  
“Oh.” She swallowed visibly, and in a careful movement, stepped away from the group that surrounded her, taking a step towards Jack now with distinct tears in her eyes.  
“Jack.” She took a step towards him, and then another and another.  
“You had to go through that. Again.”  
He heard her voice break, and the crowd on the lawn seemed to have suddenly fallen silent in their chattering, intrigued to see how this scene would play out. Eleanor Lofthouse and Prudence Stanley were the only two who knew the complexities of Phryne’s relations with the Inspector, and even then, only one of them truly knew. Neither of them knew about the motorcar incident, no one understood how much pain Jack’s heart had gone through before she had finally made her overture on the airfield, and now it felt as if they were there again in some twisted, alternate reality.  
“I did.”  
The sombre tone of Jack’s voice surprised him, and Phryne stopped walking, tilting her head and looking at him as if he were the only person on the lawn, as if no one else existed.  
“Oh Jack. Darling.”  
Jack snapped his head up from where he had been looking at his feet, and Phryne felt herself clench her fists to her sides. That hadn’t meant to slip out- it was a precious thing of long-distance phonecalls only, not something that was let out in front of half of her extended family, especially when she could hear Eleanor now whispering to her Aunt that she had told Jack about the whole marriage situation.

Jack, on the other hand, felt his resolve cracking. Yes, Phryne was married to another man despite her views on marriage, and yes, she had kissed another man languidly before even realising he was there, but she had also let slip something that took him back to early mornings in his armchair, phone cradled against his ear, a cup of tea on the side table, and Phryne’s voice in his ear telling of the adventures of terror that was flying with her father. Every phone call would be signed off in the sweetest of ways- as close to an ‘I love you’ as they had ever gotten. Her voice would go gentle and as sweet as honey, and she would close with a gentle ‘Would you like to make another romantic overture, darling?’, and every time, he would.

Jack was drawn back to the present by Phryne walking toward him once more, the sorriest look in her eyes, and a tear running down her cheek. He quickly looked back down at his shoes, and worried the rim of his hat with his hands as he had been for the last two minutes anyway.  
“Jack.” Her voice was soft, and he heard it crack before he could even consider asking her to stop.  
“Please look at me, Jack.”  
Jack shook his head, and Phryne let out a sigh, biting her lip and trying to get a hold of her emotions. She was Phryne Fisher- she did not cry over men, she would not cry over men, she would not get attached to men, yet here she was: on the lawn of a family friend’s house, crying over the one man that she had ever felt something truly close to love for.  
“You thought you lost me again, Jack.” She said quietly,  
“Please don’t make me lose you too. Please.”

Jack swallowed hard, and finally looked up at the raven-haired woman who was now only a few metres away from him. It was the please that did it, he told himself as he felt himself nodding, and opened his arms, and watched as Phryne forgot all sense of garden party/ one’s own wake manners, and ran into his arms, jumping up and pressing her head against his chest, listening to the beating of his heart as he closed his arms around her and held her close, breathing in the sweet French perfume that he had missed so dearly, and rubbing his chin against Phryne’s hair which had at some point made its way out of her flying cap and was brushing his face. Eventually, she unwrapped her legs from around him, and stood leaning against his chest still as everyone else looked at them in confusion, Johnathon Lofthouse looking as if he had just swallowed a fly. Phryne pressed a gentle kiss to Jack’s jaw, shocking herself in the fact that, although usually brazen, she had been able to do that, and Jack in turn forgot all rules of polite society and pulled her closer to kiss her on the lips.

When the two broke apart, Phryne turned to the crowd, and smiled, Eleanor taking the hint and speaking up.  
“Crippins! Forget the tea. Crack open the champagne!”  
Jack sighed in relief, and leant down to brush his lips against Phryne’s ear in whisper.  
“I feel as if you have a lot of explaining to do.” He said gently, and Phryne looked at him as if he had hung the moon.  
“Of course I do.” She said quietly, taking his hand and pulling him towards the crowd once more.  
“But for now, let’s just live in the moment.”  
She turned back to kiss him once more, and Jack felt a smile pull at his lips. Of course, his Miss Fisher would suggest a party before an explanation. After all- wasn’t that tradition when you reunited with a lost love at one’s own wake?

**Author's Note:**

> I HAD TO REWRITE THIS BECAUSE IM SICK OF CRYING OKAY? I also feel like there was the perfect opportunity for phryne to throw herself into Jack’s arms and the more I rewatch the scene, all I can see is the soft and sad way she looks at jack as if she just wants to hold him/ be held by him. That’s my take, at least. That’s all, I hope you all enjoyed the softness of my new favourite fic that I’ve written xx


End file.
